A Phone Call Away
by Fuu43
Summary: Pre-Series. One-Shot. Sam finally has what he wants. Too bad it hasn't made him any happier.


This is just a short thing I sort of have been adding to whenever the mood strikes… I have several of these hanging out on my computer right now. And, as many of you will probably soon realize, I love some good angst. Oh, especially if it's 'Sammy' angst.

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A Phone Call Away

Rated: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own the yummy-ness that is Supernatural.

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Sam picked up his phone and let his thumb waver over the 'Send' button. The phone itself was old and chipped, the writing on the buttons mostly rubbed away.

The numbers in the phone were few, Paster Jim, Bobby, Caleb, and a few other hunters his father had met throughout the years. He was planning on going through and erasing most of them, replacing them with the numbers from his schoolmates, study groups, and floor friends. He was certain that by the time orientation was over, he'd have more friends than he'd know what to do with. Easily fitting in was one step out of many that he had mapped out weeks earlier.

He scrolled through the few names again and once more stopped at the same place. The number was one he hadn't had to call more than half a dozen times, Sam had spent most of his life in reaching distance of his brother. If he shut his eyes he could still hear the sounds of Dean's soft snoring as he slept a bed over, oblivious to the world around him. If he concentrated hard, he could draw on an even earlier memory of him curled up next to his brother on a lumpy mattress, his brother rubbing at his back and whispering soothing words in the still night.

He'd nearly called him a dozen times since he'd up and left in a storm of harsh words and unspoken threats. The sting and hurt that Sam had initially felt still clung uncomfortably to him like a second skin.

Sam hadn't expected Dean to call in, to check and make sure he was okay, but still felt oddly bereft. He wasn't a little kid anymore and he sure as hell didn't need Dean to fight his battles for him. Not that Dean would ever stand up to their father. Sam pushed away the sudden feelings of anger and resentment that bubbled up at the thought of his father and brother.

It was another step on his list, be independent. He could survive without Dean, knew that if he just had the chance, he'd probably flourish. Sam didn't need someone to look after him, he was competent enough to run his own life. He knew he didn't have tons of experience, but millions of people didn't have their older brother still looking after them at eighteen.

Slouching forward he shut out the noise around him and sighed heavily.

It still felt a little odd for him; as an individual who had spent much of his life isolated from society, to really feel his aloneness. Sam knew it was another thing he'd just have to get used to. But even when he'd been moving from school to school every few months it was never _just _Sam. Dean and Sam, Sam and Dean- Sam couldn't remember a time his brother hadn't been one step in front or behind him. The crowds of people he had passed by, the strangers he had conversed with and asked directions from, they made his stomach clench and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He noticed now that his brother was absent. Where before he'd never really thought about it, where before there had never been any other _alternative_, now it was the only thing on his mind. Sam had caught himself turning to talk to Dean at least a half dozen times, wanting to tell him some stupid joke or point out a chick who was way out of his brother's league.

He even missed the way his brother would tap out beats when he listened to music or shake and yell at him with worry when Sam cut it too close on a hunt. He expected his older brother to show up, to appear as if he'd never been gone.

The anxiety was killing him. There was no Dean, would be no Dean coming to his rescue. Sam felt jittery, as if he'd had nothing but coffee the last seven days.

The sad truth was that he hadn't been able to keep down much of anything. He would have welcomed a steaming hot coffee, even without sugar or cream, had even tried to drink one several times. Even he could admit that it had been pathetic. And the numerous toilets of gas stations and restaurants he'd become closely acquainted with the last couple of days had discouraged him from any further attempts. Despite the fact that his already thin frame had gotten even thinner. He was glad he'd remembered to pack his one and only belt. Not to mention the strong taste of bile that even now he could still taste.

And he was fairly certain the lack of sleep wasn't helping. This morning when he'd glanced into the cracked yellowed mirror of the shit hole he'd found to stay in the previous evening, all he'd seen beneath his dirty mussed hair were two dark rings. His skinny arms and ill fitting t-shirt completed the poor waif look he'd unintentionally achieved.

But for all his misery, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't make himself press the dumb button like some child needing the comfort of a parent. He wasn't a kid anymore, he didn't need to be coddled or assured. He was an adult, he made his own decisions, and he didn't need _him_. It was a step on his list, and that list would turn him from Mr. Freak to Mr. Popularity. He knew that it would.

It was stupid of him. He was stupid. His brother wasn't coming, wouldn't come for a no-good selfish bastard like him even if he did call. The words rang in his ears, his father's voice like sandpaper against an open wound. His dad had been right in a lot of ways, but Sam still wouldn't press the 'Send' button. Dean probably wouldn't even pick up, was probably just as pissed as dad for having such a waste of a brother.

Slouching deeper, he adjusted his long legs and tried to get comfortable. The chair he sat on was cold and plastic, made for someone shorter. He felt like a giant trying to mash into a child's chair. Around him other people his age sat or milled about in small groups. He recognized parents too, talking with their children, ruffling their kid's hair or softly giving last minute advice.

This was it. Sam had finally done the impossible- was moments away from fulfilling the one dream that he'd had since he'd been old enough to dream. Stanford. College. A normal life with normal expectations and normal people. Dean had never understood how he could want something so ordinary, how he dreamed of the mundane. His brother couldn't understand how Sam could need anything, anyone, but him.

Sam rubbed at his chest and blinked rapidly. He had never been so ecstatic or miserable at the same time.

He startled as a girl took the seat next to him. The woman was young, a freshman like Sam probably, and wearing a purple polo and khakis. She glanced down at the clipboard she'd been given, and Sam saw her stiffen slightly and peer at him from the corner of her eye. Sam kept his own gaze on the cell phone he still had clutched in his left hand. His own paperwork sat on the small end table on his other side, it had been filled out for nearly a half hour.

She shifted her body away from him, turning so that he couldn't see her filling out her form. Sam hadn't really noticed before, but while the other kids mingled with each other…none had approached him. Pushing down the sting he felt at the realization, he pulled his arms in and kept his eyes on his phone.

They just needed to get to know him; they needed the opportunity to see how normal he was. He couldn't blame them for their first impression though. His own 'nice clothes' that he'd picked for the occasion were a pair of jeans that were practically threadbare and a shirt he'd nabbed from the dollar bin in one of the many thrift stores they'd stopped at while on the road. At the time he'd thought it was perfect. A plain dark blue button down that would help him make a good first impression, would make it easier for him to fit in.

Sam had thought that he could do this, all he needed was some careful planning and good preparation. Like any hunt, all he had to do was his research.

Now he didn't feel confident, his blue shirt felt woefully inadequate. He was pretending, and it was as if every person there could tell. Misfit. Loser. Freak. His list was nothing more than a joke, a crumpled piece of paper in his back pocket.

The stares before when they'd been traveling had never bothered him, his father had barely registered them and Dean had stared just as hard back.

His fingers flexed automatically around the phone he still held. Sam wanted to hear Dean's voice, wanted to see his face. But Dean knew how to hold a grudge, though Sam had never really had Dean's anger turned toward him. How could his brother possibly want to see him? Why would his brother want to reassure the sibling who had abandoned him? He'd left Dean, and even now when he closed his eyes he could see the betrayal in his brother's face.

Dad didn't want to see him, probably wouldn't even acknowledge him, and Dean would follow suit. He always did. Sam took a deep breath and let his hair fall forward. It was getting longer than his dad like it, and Sam had taken pleasure at his father's disapproval. Now, his actions felt petty and childish.

Just like him.

"Sam Winchester?"

The office door had opened, and a women in her mid-forties with a name tag that read "Registration" looked over the space crammed with freshman. She had rosy cheeks and short curly hair that didn't move when she walked.

Standing on unsteady legs, Sam snapped the phone shut and slid it into a pocket. It burned against his leg. Grabbing his paperwork, he avoided the curious glances and kept his eyes turned downward. The roar around him continued as he made his way across the room. Sam couldn't picture his father in the room, shaking his hand in congratulations or helping move him into a dorm room. But he could almost picture Dean doing it, laughing with him and offering teasing comfortable support.

Maybe he'd call later, when he'd settled in a bit more and everything was organized. Maybe by then Dean wouldn't hang up on him, or he'd feel more ready for the inevitable rejection.

The woman talked as he followed her, yammering on about activities on campus and the number of new students she'd seen that day.

He only half heard her words, the feeling of fear growing inside his stomach. How he thought he could do this, how he thought he could manage this alone, he didn't know. Sam couldn't operate without his brother, was surprised he'd even been able to navigate himself across the country.

The feeling of exhalation at finally meeting his goal abruptly dwindled. What was the purpose of achieving his dreams, if there was no one there to celebrate with him?

Shutting his eyes for a moment, he pictured Dean behind him, tall and strong and excited.

"_You can do this."_

That's what he wanted to hear, because despite everything, Sam wasn't sure he wouldn't screw this up. Without Dean next to him, Sam wasn't sure he could do anything. He concentrated harder and could almost feel Dean next to him, could smell the old leather and grease.

The office in front of him was filled with books and a large desk that the woman sat behind before motioning for him to take a seat. She looked through the papers on her desk, still chattering away at a rapid pace that Sam couldn't keep up with.

His hand moved to his pocket and his heart rate slowed at the feel of the phone. The urge to call his brother was suddenly so great he actually thought he might be sick for a moment. He pretended for a second that Dean was slouched in one of the corners, going through the woman's stuff and looking both uncomfortable and curious.

Sam knew that Dean didn't want to talk to him, but pretending that he was right behind him, watching over him, encouraging him, almost made him feel like he could handle Stanford without him.

Almost.

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End file.
